It is no wonder then, that Jene and I are both fans of Freya & Fantasie, for it feels as though they follow Luciani’s bra bible (The Bra Book) perfectly, and their designs certainly guided me back to a place of happiness…

The end of a bad week, finally, had arrived. I was a disaster. In the midst of what is my favorite season, with flowers blooming and sunshine beaming, I found myself having one of those days when I couldn’t seem to find the light at the end of the tunnel, nor the silver lining. I was in rare form, and no matter how much I knew better, I couldn’t help but throw myself a pity party. So I did. Sometimes, you just have to get it out of your system I guess.

“It was a bright and sunny Sunday and the image of me enveloped in Cherry Blossoms was engrained in my head.”

Fast forward to the next day, it is time for me to peel myself off of the ground. As Frank Sinatra would say, “Each time I find myself layin’ flat on my face I just pick myself up and get back in the race. That’s life…”

Now my methods may not work for everyone, but hopefully, my strategies for getting back up again will at least be amusing if not helpful.

Katrina’s cure to the ultimate Crash & Burn:

Whip out your Frank Sinatra playlist with the following tracks:
- New York, New York
- That’s Life
- My Way

Hit the gym

Watch Rocky clips, Ellen, and Madonna on youtube for no more than 30 minutes

Write a major fuck you email and DO NOT PRESS SEND

Stop and smell the roses. I mean that literally. Seek flowers immediately.

See, number five is where things got a little tricky. I insisted my boyfriend Buffalo and I should pay a visit to one of my favorite places in the world: The Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. It is the height of Cherry Blossom season, and there was nothing I wanted more than to hug a Cherry Blossom tree and ask it to heal my wounds to prepare me for the week ahead.

“I put on Fantasie’s vintage rose print bra, Delilah, and allowed myself to get lost in its floral pattern as I put on my makeup.”

I put on Fantasie’s vintage rose print bra, Delilah, and allowed myself to get lost in its floral pattern as I put on my makeup. It was a bright and sunny Sunday and the image of me enveloped in Cherry Blossoms was engrained in my head. Visions of the sun hitting my skin and the softness of infinite petals creating a blanket of comfort around me played over and over as we set out for our adventure.

Of course when I arrived at the Cherry Blossom field, that fantasy might as well have been ripped up into a million pieces, ran over by mac truck and spit on by a dozen pubescent boys walking home from school. Infamous for my common sense, I of course hadn’t thought about the other 50,000 people who wanted to see the cherry blossoms on this Sunday afternoon in high season. There wasn’t so much as a morsel on grass left to sit on, and I couldn’t even humor the idea of getting near one of those trees. Standing there, 30 feet away from the pink flowered branches, had a similar feel to that of a crowded subway car. People were bumping into me left and right, and I began to feel all flustered inside, which only gets my vintage rose print panties in bunch. Buffalo knew the fragile state I was in, and being jostled could be a lethal last straw that sent me right over the edge. He treated me as one would a ticking bomb, and I could see the fear in his calm and collected eyes as he guided me to a far off remote corner of the park, where there weren’t any flowers at all, but at least a patch of grass, and a quiet place to rest. We laid down looking up at the tall trees that canopied above us.

“Want to go to the Library?” I suggested.

Buffalo loved this idea, as was his nature, and the library was only down the street. I sat up and smiled, “I have a library card.” Buffalo was pleasantly surprised. I knew he would be.

While he headed to the comparative religions wing I went on a hunt for books on flowers. If I wasn’t going to smell any that afternoon, perhaps I could learn about them instead.

We met back at the check out desk, I with a stack of books on flowers, and he with a couple research books for his novel. I removed my library card from my wallet with pride and handed it to the quintessential librarian, in her cardigan with glasses connected to a beaded string around her neck. Her bob curled perfectly and parted on the side, suggesting 1955.

She sat back in her chair, extended her arm, and held my card out in front of her “Oh my…” she said, peering over the top of her glasses, examining my card on both sides, “It’s been ages since I’ve seen one of these. Its practically an antique.”

I felt the smile fade away on my face as I stared at her blankly. This isn’t happening. I thought to myself.

“When was the last time you used this?” she asked. Now she’s taking it too far, I thought. And more, I wasn’t sure I had ever used it. I could sense that Buffalo was thankful for the large desk that stood between Mrs. Librarian and me in that moment.

Her irritating, overly soft-spoken tone, carried on without mercy and proved to be the icing on the cake. By the time she was done explaining, it sounded something like this:

“You’ll have to go over there to that computer, type in all of your information including your social security number, we will then finger print you for our records and request a blood sample. Then you will wait for your temporary card in the mail. On the 7th day, you may rest. Then you shall make your great journey back to the library so we can approve you for an official card.” My jaw had dropped about three stories below us by this point. Perplexed that she seemed to have no sense of the rabid frustration in my expression as I cocked my head to the side and gave a smile the likes of Jack Nicholson from The Departed, as she continued on with nauseating enthusiastic courtesy. “In the mean time, I would be happy to hold these books here for you.”

Oh how kind of you. I thought, using every ounce of restraint I had not to express such sarcasm out loud.

Who would have thought it could be so hard to commune with the flowers? Why was this week eating my soul? What would Monday bring? Should I light the library on fire? Or my to do list?

“I want my card back.”

“But dear, it isn’t any use to you, we are supposed to collect these.”

“Give. Me. The card.” I put out my hand. Alas, it seemed she was finally getting the hint that perhaps I was a bit troubled on this particular Sunday afternoon. I had held onto that card since before I could legally be served a drink without losing it like I do everything else, and regardless of whether or not it could check out books, it was MY library card and I wanted it back in my wallet. I had ironically become very attached to it. That little piece of plastic had become a special symbol to me, as it created the illusion that I was a normal, functioning member of society. She half handed back the card and I half took it out of her hands and left swiftly.

One of the benefits of having an actor as your boyfriend is their ability to whip out any accent at the drop of a dime. And so, as we stood outside the library doors, Buffalo offered some humor in the voice of Tony Soprano, “If only that librarian knew you got marinara runnin through those veins.” Even in my worst moments, Buffalo always manages to find a way to make me laugh. “How about I take you out for an Italian dinner?” he asked.

As excruciating as my week had been, I felt so thankful to be sitting across from a man who loved me, eating Italian food, and over a dish of raviolis, red wine, and fancy asparagus, I felt my strength coming back to me. I found myself putting everything back into perspective, and the glass of Malbec that stood next to my plate was suddenly half full again. Or maybe I was feeling this way because the other half was in my belly?

Monday morning came and over a cup of coffee I decided to buy a couple used flower books on Amazon for only one penny each! But then it occurred to me that it would be weeks before they arrived… I thought about the To Do list that waited for me on my desk, and how filling my vase with flowers might ease the concerns that lingered in my brain, if only a little.

“Will you get me flowers?” I asked.

Buffalo put down the newspaper as if he had suddenly been struck with guilt and sorrow. “Of course!” he said, his eyes as round and sweet as a puppie’s, “I remember to get you flowers…” Now I felt terrible! Its not like he never remembers to get me flowers, I just particularly wanted them this week. After all, I had just spent the last 48 hours desperately trying to experience flowers in any form.

“I know you do, and I love when you get me flowers!” I smiled at him, assuring him that I was just asking, and it wasn’t a big deal, nor was I the least bit upset with him. “I just particularly want them this week.”

“The whole room was embellished with white sculptures that looked like they belonged in a princess’ bedroom”

The following weekdays proved to bring all kinds of flora wonder throughout my daily hustle and bustle. Somewhere on the Upper East Side, enchanted by the beautiful store windows, I found myself experiencing a rose not in my nose or with my eyes, but on the tip of my tongue. I had been introduced to macaroons for the very first time, and the flavor I chose, happened to be rose. The taste of petals was anything but subtle and more delicious than I had imagined it would be. I had been photographing esthetician Jillian Wright in New York City’s central magical forest, and she suggested we visit her favorite pastry shop, Lauderee, on Madison Avenue. It was so pretty inside, and I couldn’t help but admire how those little circular things she kept calling macaroons matched the fuscia pastels of the walls. The whole room was embellished with white sculptures that looked like they belonged in a princess’ bedroom.

The perfectly pink macaroon was as light as a feather as I sunk my teeth into the little pillow of sugar. And if the color wasn’t enough to make me fall in love, the potent taste of roses touched by fairies was enough to send you to Neverland. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Alice In Wonderland sculptures from the magical central forest came to life every night and baked the little circular desserts till dawn. They certainly contained a pinch of fairy dust among other sugary ingredients.

The following night I would go where I had never gone before. Through the depths of my closet to dig out and dust off my one and only, never worn, strapless top. Until now, I had never found a strapless bra that worked, Author & TV personality extraordinaire Jene Luciani explains why perfectly in, The Bra Book, “This bra sounds simple (i.e., a bra without straps), but it can be difficult to find one that fits properly and doesn’t slide down the body when warn.”

“The Deco bra was like feminine armor under more flowers, this time patterned upon the fabric of my top.”

Until Freya’s Deco shape strapless bra, I had all but given up hope on ever wearing a strapless top. The Deco bra was like feminine armor under more flowers, this time patterned upon the fabric of my top. I wore it to an opening for one of my favorite artists, Marco Brambilla, who premiered his latest piece, Creation. For as much as I thought I’d never be seen in a strapless top, I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d be caught dead in a catholic church with bare shoulders! Of all the nights! To my surprise, we arrived at The Basillica of St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral, where Brambilla chose to premier his latest piece in 3D none-the less. So there I was in the very front pew, a catholic girl in a strapless floral top and 3D glasses, illuminated by the glow from the 30 foot screen that projected across my face. I had asked for flowers and god had certainly delivered in his own mysterious ways. I decided since I was in his home, it was an appropriate time to thank him for all of the beautiful flowers in my life. Never thought I would find myself praying in 3D glasses either, but I guess there is a first time for everything.

“…it is important to remind ourselves to be thankful for the ‘blossoms’ in our lives and never lose hope nor sight of our mission.”

Buffalo got me beautiful roses of yellow and white that week. And I was ever so happy to have them near by as I tackled my to do lists and dealt with the challenges life threw at me.

Flowers and Sinatra may not be the cure to all of our problems, but perhaps it is the principal of plowing through the sludge, however you choose to do it, that is vital. It isn’t as though we haven’t told ourselves this before, or that this is a message we don’t already know, but sometimes, when the light at the end of the tunnel seams faint, it is important to remind ourselves to be thankful for the ‘blossoms’ in our lives and never lose hope nor sight of our mission.

“When the raindrops come tumbling, remember you’re the one who can fill the world with sunshine.” –Snow White

Learn more about Katrina

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